unrequited
by Lady Sashi
Summary: What to do when love goes unrequited? Where to turn? I own nothing but the song.


**Unrequited**

_The tears flow freely,_  
_The words do not;_  
_But I can't even cry anymore._  
Hermione was tired of crying, tired of shedding tears that fell unnoticed.  
Why was she feeling this way? She was fine until Lavender showed up with her lecherous appetite, and set her sights and her soul-sucking Dementor's kiss on her best friend.  
Or was it something more than that?  
_I look at you,_  
_You look right through;_  
_The only one that I adore._  
Hermione looked at the two of them from across the Great Hall. Hefting her books in her arms, she gave them a wide berth and stayed as far away from the two lovebirds as she could get, while still being within Gryffindor territory.  
She had found herself checking her robes for lint that morning and trying without much success to brush the wild tangles from her hair.  
She found it odd that she would suddenly be preoccupied with her appearance.  
_But this is all just unrequited,_  
_Nothing more than over-sighted._  
_Oh, wouldn't I be delighted_  
_To be your one Amore._  
At that moment Seamus came running into the Hall, covered in snow. He'd been out on the pitch flying that morning.  
"It's colder than a Witch's tit out there!"  
Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice, earning looks from the others and a giggle from Lavender. She glared at Seamus.  
Suddenly feeling less hungry than she had thought, Hermione gathered her books and left the Hall as fast as possible without actually running.  
_I cry and cry_  
_Till I want to die,_  
_Writhing on the floor._  
Rounding the corner safely, Hermione sagged against the wall with a dry sob.  
Why did she care what other people thought?  
What Lavender thought?  
Or most importantly…what Ron thought?  
She shook her head. Why should he matter any more than the rest?  
_But this is all just unrequited,_  
_Nothing more than over-sighted._  
_Oh, wouldn't I be delighted_  
_To be your one Amore._  
The truth was though, that he did matter.  
She didn't want him to, hated that he did.  
If she had her way, he wouldn't matter to her anymore.  
She wouldn't let him.  
_But this is all just unrequited,_  
_Nothing more than over-sighted._  
_Oh, wouldn't I be delighted_  
_To be your one Amore?_  
Hermione walked quickly, not really sure where she was going but intent on getting there.  
Out into the cold and she kept going.  
All the way to Hogsmeade and she kept going.  
When she found herself in Diagon Alley, she didn't remember how she'd gotten there, but still she kept going.  
Down the side streets into Knockturn Alley.  
Finally she turned into a shop half hidden in a little hole in the wall. The shopkeeper looked up.  
"Well, didn't think I'd be seeing you again, certainly not so soon."  
Hermione glared at the man behind the counter and rifled in her robes for a bag of coins, which she deposited on the counter.  
"Just give me what I came for!"  
The man weighed the bag in his hand, whistled, impressed and turned to the dusty, potion-filled shelves behind him.  
After a minute, he took down a bottle of dark blue-black liquid – it looked and smelled like ink. The bottle was dusty and the label old and faded.  
"This is it?"  
"That'll do it, and more, for the price you paid."  
Hermione gave the man a suspicious look before shrugging, breaking the wax seal, popping the cork and tipping back the contents.  
The Amneserum went down just like ink, but Hermione didn't care what it tasted like or how much it cost, just as long as it did its job.  
She set the bottle down with a glance at the shopkeeper. He just smiled.  
"Takes a while. Don't worry."  
Shrugging, Hermione left the store and returned to the school, grateful that no one had noticed when she had left.  
When she awoke the next morning, her problem with Lavender and Ron was gone.  
She didn't even know who they were.  
Now, if she could just figure out who she was.  
_As Edgar Allen Poe once said,_  
_"Quoth The Raven,_  
_"Nevermore"._

**Unrequited**

The tears flow freely,  
The words do not;  
But I can't even cry anymore.  
I look at you,  
You look right through;  
The only one that I adore.  
But this is all just unrequited,  
Nothing more than over-sighted.  
Oh, wouldn't I be delighted  
To be your one Amore.  
I cry and cry  
Till I want to die,  
Writhing on the floor.  
But this is all just unrequited,  
Nothing more than over-sighted.  
Oh, wouldn't I be delighted  
To be your one Amore.  
But this is all just unrequited,  
Nothing more than over sighted.  
Oh, wouldn't I be delighted  
To be your one Amore?  
As Edgar Allen Poe once said,  
"Quoth The Raven,  
"Nevermore".


End file.
